Bleeding Wounds
by authorintraining7
Summary: MAJOR SPOILER ALERT for episode 1x10, NUMBER CRUNCH. Somewhat AU. Reese grunted, his hold on the railing waning with every heartbeat. His entire body was trembling now and it felt like his core was burning from the inside out. -Character 3: H. Finch


***.*.***

MAJOR SPOILER ALERT **for episode 1x10,** NUMBER CRUNCH!

***.*.*.*.***

**I loved the latest "Person of Interest" episode, "Number Crunch!" I fell in love with the last scene of the episode and re-watched it a bunch of times. :) After my infatuation with it died down a bit, I couldn't help but write something. Now, when I first watched the end of the episode, I kept expecting/hoping Carter would find Reese on the ground in the stairwell, bleeding out (lol, a weird thing to hope for, but there you go). I'm satisfied with how the episode actually ended, but I thought it'd be fun to write what I, more or less, thought was going to be the ending. I admit, I exaggerated Reese's reaction to his injuries, seeing as how in the episode he just got up and hurried off after being shot in the gut and leg. And then he made his way down x-amount of flight of stairs...so, yeah, I made him weaker in this fanfic than he is on the show. It was the only way I could get him to slow down so that Carter could catch him. :P**

**Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism welcome.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of "Person of Interest."**

It smelled of urine and dead ash, but Reese concentrated on the scents to stable him. With labored control, he breathed in the tainted air in hopes to calm his tightening lungs, knowing he had no time to stop and hyperventilate. The cold metal of his gun a reassuring bite to his skin, Reese used his hand to feel the weapon's texture. He used his sense of touch to distract himself from the chill that was hollowing his body. However, with his other hand so fervently pressed into his bleeding stomach, his focus on the cold metal was compromised by the thick, warm feeling of running blood. His leg, trembling in stabbing pain with every step he descended, was also feeling the contradiction of being both warm and cold. The blood pouring from the hole in his thigh was branching off into separate, heated paths, leaving the rest of his leg to suffer in a suffocating chill.

Taking another agonizing step down, Reese cringed when the predicted stabbing pain doubled in intensity. It made his leg wobble and forced him to tumble closer to the metal railing. Reese gasped in pain, tightening his weaken grip over his gun.

_"John? What's wrong? What happened?"_ Harold asked, practically shouting the questions into his earpiece.

Starting to lose control over his breathing, Reese reluctantly removed his hand from his stomach and used it to grasp the railing. The blood on his hand made him slip a little downward, but his vice grip on the metal stopped him from falling.

_"John? John, talk to me."_

Reese grunted, his hold on the railing waning with every heartbeat. His entire body was trembling now and it felt like his core was burning from the inside out. He was almost to the second floor platform. If he could just go down a few more steps, he could rest on the cement bed and die in peace.

"I'm not gonna make it, Harold," Reese panted, forcing himself down another step.

_"Don't say that. I'm almost there! Just hang on, John. Please…please."_

Reese made his way down another step. The fear in Finch's voice was twisting at his heart. The older man wasn't built to deal with this horrific part of humanity. Whatever Finch's tragedies were, they didn't equip him enough to handle violence and death. Reese held on to that quality of Finch. It was his last and only source of human decency. He always hated having to ask Finch for assistance because it always involved dangerous fieldwork of some kind—the kind that slowly devours innocence. From the beginning they both knew what they were getting into—Finch probably more than Reese—but that didn't make anything easier. It didn't make _this_ easier. Reese had wanted to die for a long time, but he never wanted to die on Finch.

"I'm sorry, Harold," Reese said, his words produced by shallow breaths.

_"Don't be sorry, just stay alive!"_

He sounded angry. Reese supposed he had every right to be.

On the last step, Reese all but collapsed against the wall, dropping his gun. He suppressed a cry of pain, grinding his teeth together as he slid to the floor. With slow, painful effort, Reese managed to turn himself around so that his back was leaning against the wall. Then, his lungs strained, he took in greedy breaths of the stale air. The dull lights, faded with age, flickered ominously, darkening his vision around the corners of his eyes. Or, maybe, he was starting to lose consciousness.

Then he heard some steps above him. They were in a cautious hurry, moving quickly, but hesitating every couple steps. Reese didn't bother looking up. He could tell that the person was wearing heels—female—height about five feet and five inches—it could only be one person.

A round, bright light scaled up Reese's body, stopping at his face. He cringed against the harsh brightness and glanced away. For a tense second, all he could hear was his own labored breathing. Reese half-expected her to call Mark, half-hoped she wouldn't.

"Put your hands where I can see them," Detective Carter ordered, her voice uncharacteristically shaky.

_"I'm here, John. Where are you?"_

"Carter," Reese gasped out, more as a warning to Finch than anything else.

_"Carter's with you?"_

"I said put your hands where I can see them!" Carter repeated, this time louder and firmer.

Reese obeyed, bringing his quivering hands to his lap and spreading them out appropriately. Though the blinding light hid her form, he could tell Carter was looking at the blood that coated his hands. He even thought he heard her curse, but it was so muffled and quiet he couldn't be sure.

_"John…tell me where you are."_

"No."

He wouldn't let Finch get caught. He was the most significant aspect of this entire job. Without Finch, there were no numbers and no chances to save people. Reese was the expendable one of the two, not the other way around.

"_'No'_ what?" Carter asked him, slowly making her way down the steps towards him.

_"John, please, tell me where you are."_

Reese closed his eyes. His brain pulsed painfully within his skull, though it felt more like his brain was trying to break through the bone. There were too many voices, too many thoughts, too many memories—it was all too much to keep track of. He nearly missed it when Carter crouched down next to him, removing the light from his face. Reese opened his eyes in time to watch her push his gun away, which, apparently, had been sitting next to him this entire time.

_"Now, John!"_

Reese stared up at Carter, trying to decipher the various emotions that manipulated her expression. The lighting's angle was unfortunate, for it casted most of Carter's face in shadows.

_"Please, John. Please."_

"I'm expendable," Reese said, seeing some light reflect off of Carter's glazed eyes.

_"No. No, don't ever say that."_

"I don't think you are," Carter said, sounding as soft and broken as Finch did.

Something akin to emotion lightly grazed Reese's throat. Perhaps it was the pain and blood loss getting to him, but he knew there was more to it than that. Before he could reflect on it, Carter was pushing her coat (which she had, evidently, taken off) into his stomach, stabbing a new, searing pain into him. He let out a silent cry of agony, an overwhelming drowning-feeling squeezing his throat and lungs. Then Reese let out a wisp of a breath, but it wasn't enough. He gasped for more air, desperate, but his throat would only take a fraction of what he sucked in.

"I'm sorry. I know this hurts," Carter said, pressing her hands deeper into his stomach's wound. This time, Reese's painful cry was not silent, "but we need to stop the blood loss. I'm sure you already…. Your leg."

Reese split opened his eyes. The demand for unconsciousness was heavy on his eyelids, but he rebelled against it to look at Carter. She was frozen in spot, staring down at his leg with wide eyes. Then, in a second, one of her hands snapped over to his thigh, inspecting the wound before pressing down on it. Reese let out a hiss of a groan, but remained still.

"I…I didn't even see him shoot your leg."

She sounded guilty. More than that though, she sounded conflicted. Reese hadn't wanted to get her in the middle of anything, especially his past. It was taken out of his hands, however, when her number came up a few days ago. He couldn't sacrifice her to save himself. Even if it was in his nature to do such a thing, he would never be able to live with the guilt of actually _choosing_ to let someone down. Not again. Never again.

Despite the betrayal he felt when he first saw Carter earlier that night, Reese didn't condemn her for her actions. In fact, he knew Carter had every right to sell him out. It was her job to protect people and, whether or not his intentions were good, the vague life of a vigilante should always be considered a threat. She was just bringing him to justice—protecting people—doing what she thought was right. At the end of the day, Reese would always respect her for it, even if it did hurt a little.

"Don't blame you, you know," Reese rasped, taking the great effort to keep eye contact with her.

"Yeah, well, I blame _you_," Carter said, sounding exhausted. She only held his gaze for a quick moment before shifting it down to his stomach, "If you weren't out there playing God, none of this would have happened. I _told you _this would happen."

"Yeah…you did," Reese said, honestly amused by her scolding.

Before another word could be uttered, Carter's phone rang. Reese's eyes snapped over to her pocket. She must have felt the tension radiating off him, for Carter hesitated for an uncertain moment. Whatever she chose to do—whatever she said to Mark on the other line—Reese wouldn't blame her. He hoped for her alliance, but he didn't disrespect her opposition. Still, the thought of being carried away by the CIA was making him more nauseous than he already was. He would rather bleed out than go back "home," as Mark had called it.

"Hello?" Carter said, waking Reese from his thoughts.

He didn't look at her. Even if he had the energy to deal with the current situation, Reese refused to make it any more complicated than it already was. He would wait for Carter to make her move, and then he would act accordingly.

"Who is this?" she asked.

Her fear thinly veiled behind irritation had Reese glancing up. It didn't make sense for Mark to hide his identity; not after he had already established contact with the asset. He watched for several seconds as her expression morphed from fearing irritation to shocked irritation.

"You," Carter said, accusing.

Reese blinked. Who could get Carter so riled? There were a number of enemies that got Carter's temper going. Reese himself had gotten on her nerves a few times. But which enemy would call now? Elias? How could he possibly know—why wouldn't Finch—then it hit him.

_Finch._

Reese hadn't realized Finch had hung up on him. He was a little annoyed that he had missed that valuable detail and even more annoyed that Finch was flat-out ignoring him. However, at the same time, a more selfish side of Reese was extremely grateful for Finch's persistence. The last person who believed he was worth any risk was Jessica, and he had successfully pushed her away. Reese was relieved he had been unsuccessful with Finch.

"…Okay…. Okay, I'll bring him down," Carter said, hesitating before hanging up.

He could tell she needed more time to think, but she wasn't granted any time, at all.

"You think you can walk if I help you?" Carter asked, making it sound more like an order.

"I'll try," Reese breathed out.

Carter, with gentle hands, got one of his arms around her shoulders. She gripped his wrist to keep his arm around her as her other hand snaked its way behind his back and under his other arm. The gentleness of her hands immediately stiffened and Reese tensed his body in preparation. Carter was a strong woman, but it was pure agony the way she struggled to pull him up. Reese almost fell back down a couple of times, the pain tearing through his entire body, and he cried out against the strain. However, each and every time he descended back, Carter caught him and pushed harder up against him with a couple of grunts. By the time he was standing up, his entire form shook and he couldn't breathe. Carter held on to him, taking on a considerable amount of his weight as he caught his breath.

"Come on, we've got to go," Carter said, rubbing his wrist with her thumb.

After a couple choked up breaths, Reese managed a tight smile and said, "Lead the way."

Her coat abandoned on the ground, the two of them moved forward. When they got to the first step downward, Reese's heart sank. There was no way he was going to make it down those steps. He couldn't handle any more strain on his body, which was on the verge of collapsing. Carter sensed his hesitation and stood still for a moment.

"Elevator," she suggested, pushing him in the direction of the second floor door.

Reese shook his head, his body barely moving an inch under Carter's pressure.

"Cameras." He said.

"We don't have time for that creepy stealth of yours," Carter said with a snapping tone. She pushed against him again, a secret fear hidden in her words as she growled, "Now, _move_."

He complied. He wasn't in any position to argue with her anyway.

It took much too long just to open the metal door, let alone to reach the elevator. Moving one stumbled step at a time, Reese could feel his body going into shock. His chances of survival were diminishing. He feared he wouldn't reach Finch in time, and guilt of the worse kind began clawing at his chest. Finch had risked too much for Reese to die now. His sacrifices would have been for nothing if Reese couldn't keep breathing. It was an excruciating source of motivation, but it made his heart pound a little stronger.

When they got in the elevator, Reese was relieved to have a moment of stillness. He used the time he had to catch his feeble breath. He tried to take some of his crushing weight off of Carter, but found the courtesy unbearable to perform. Perhaps feeling his effort, Carter ran her thumb over his wrist again.

"We're almost there. Just keep breathing for me, okay?"

The genuine concern in her voice brought more emotion to his throat, this time stronger than before. Reese sucked in a large, purposeful breath.

"Thank you," he rasped, looking over at her.

Carter looked back at him. So many emotions swirled in her eyes, but the dominant one broke his heart.

"You're welcome." she said.

The elevator shuttered to a stop before its silver doors parted. Reese had never felt so relieved and so terrified to see Finch standing there, car impatiently grumbling behind him. At first, the older man started to hobble towards them, but Carter's sharp, decisive voice ordered him to get Reese out of there. Finch nodded, quickly changing his direction and heading for the driver's side of the car. As Finch was opening his door, Carter was opening the back passenger's door for Reese. Then she leant down with him, carefully seating him in the car. Reese's body was so ecstatic to be resting on a cushioned seat, he nearly passed out. However, a firm hand squeezed his shoulder, waking him before he had the chance to sleep. Reese bobbed his head over and stared at Carter. Her eyes were bearing down on him, and he could see that she was finally giving herself the time to make a thorough decision. But then she cut it short, shaking her head and slamming the car door shut.

"Go!" she said.

Finch slammed his foot against the gas pedal, and Carter became nothing more but a distant figure, shivering in the cold.


End file.
